


something started in my soul, fever or forgotten wings

by arachnistar



Category: Brooklyn Nine-Nine (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Art History, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-31
Updated: 2018-06-23
Packaged: 2019-05-16 07:48:34
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,156
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14807234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/arachnistar/pseuds/arachnistar
Summary: In another universe, Amy Santiago decides to pursue art history. Instead of becoming the NYPD’s youngest captain, she becomes a professor at Columbia, publishes papers on Latin American art, and befriends Dr. Kevin Cozner who shares her appreciation for the arts and the Sunday crossword. This year, she’s invited to his husband’s birthday party where she meets a certain hotshot detective.In another universe, Amy Santiago decides to pursue art history and still finds herself drawn to the same person.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by a line in @startofamoment’s fic [your smile is my destiny](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14556282) about what if Amy had pursued art history instead of going to the academy. You should all go read her beautiful fic! Given that this wouldn't exist without her, this fic is dedicated to Erica, thanks for letting me run wild with this idea!
> 
> Title is from Pablo Neruda’s “Poetry”. Some of the dialogue comes from “The Party”.

Amy is in the middle of a conversation about this semester’s most frustrating students with Kevin when he stops her and calls out, “Jake.”

“Kevin!” A man turns to smile at them. ‘I’m loving this party. It’s the _epitome_ of high class.”  

She didn’t attend Raymond’s birthday party with any intention of checking people out and she isn’t about to go home with anyone no matter how attractive they are, but well, it’s hard not to notice the brown hair curling at Jake’s neck or the way his jacket sits on his frame or his smile when he says epitome, like it’s a new word he’s just learned and couldn’t wait to use in the right company.    

“Yes, thank you. I was hoping we could finish our earlier conversation about Remnick’s article on human trafficking.” Kevin glances back to her. “If you don’t mind, Amy?”

“Not at all. It was a good article.” Amy smiles, filing away her story about Brent Cook, a freshman who giggles uncontrollably whenever there’s a nude sculpture on screen, for later, and extends her hand to Jake. “Amy Santiago. I’m an art history professor at Columbia.”

“Jake Peralta, Captain Holt’s best detective.” He takes her hand with a grin and a cocky tilt of his head that simultaneously makes Amy’s knees quiver and her spirit want to rise up and challenge his claim. She quells that urge though and shakes his hand. Afterwards, he says, “Wow, that must have been in the one percent of handshakes.”

She isn’t sure whether to take it as a joke or as a compliment or some strange mixture of the two, but her chest glows warm all the same. “It’s important to make a good first impression.”

“Quite.” Kevin nods with a significant look at Jake, as if he’s long since formed his opinion of the detective and it’s not a flattering one.

Jake either doesn’t notice or doesn’t care as he plows right ahead, his voice taking on a pitched intellectual tone. “So, that New Yorker article, it was interesting. Especially the first two paragraphs. Don’t you think?” 

“Right,” Kevin nods, “but what did you think of the thesis vis-à-vis modern slavery and its undeniable role in the economy?”

“Good.” Jake shoots off immediately. Amy and Kevin wait for him to elaborate and he squirms in place like he’s trying really hard not to jump out of his skin at this exact moment. He swallows, some of his earlier swagger gone, and adds, “If you ask me the whole thesis was way off-base, vis-à-vis the rest of the article, vis-à-vis America.”

Amy tilts her head to consider him, eyebrows raised, because this isn’t the kind of viewpoint she’d expected to run into during the birthday party of her friend’s husband and she isn’t entirely certain whether it’s a misunderstanding or something much more insidious. “The article was antislavery.”

Jake stares at her like he maybe doesn’t understand what her words have to do with his. Amy stares back and then it clicks.

He hasn’t read the article.

He’s trying to bullshit his way through the conversation just like one of her students scrambling to write a ten-page essay on Constructivism when they haven’t done any of the readings. And while she’s aware some students are masters of their craft, able to cobble together sound arguments from Wikipedia entries and their own inflated vocabularies, Jake most certainly isn’t one of them.

Kevin, either without this epiphany or else determined to give Jake a hard time, Amy isn’t sure which but has a feeling it’s not the prior, continues, “She’s asking if you truly disagree with the thesis… As in, are you saying that slavery is good?”

Jake’s eyes widen. His voice tries for casual and lands firmly in panicked rambling. “You know, I think you’re both missing the point of the article. You must not be remembering it right.”

“Well, I just read it last night as I got in bed. It’s quite fresh in my memory.”

“Ah.” Jake’s lips press tightly together and he looks off to the side, as if searching for a lifeline he can cash in right about now.

“You know,” but they never find out exactly what Kevin intends to say as there’s a crash from the kitchen at that moment. Kevin’s lips purse and he nods at both of them, “Excuse me. I need to deal with this.” His eyes fix on Jake. “I would like to hear more of your thoughts once I am done.”

“And I would love to give them to you once you’re done with the kitchen chaos.” Jake glances at Amy. “See what I did there? Word play, I’m smart.”

She almost laughs. _Almost_. But then she reminds herself that he’s the student bullshitting his way through an essay and that sets her back on track.  

“Amy, I will see you later as well.”

Once Kevin’s gone, Amy turns her sharp gaze on Jake before he can run off too. “You don’t read the New Yorker, do you?”

“What?” His voice hits a high note an opera singer would be envious of, dragging the word out, and then he coughs, regains some of his composure. “I totally do. I read the hell out of it. I just have… some controversial opinions.” 

His face twists at the end of his sentence, nose scrunching up, like maybe he really does regret the corner he’s backed himself into. Amy would feel a bit more sympathy for him if he hadn’t decided to lie in the first place.

“Well since you’re such a hot-shot reader, you must have read the following article. It was the biggest piece of the year.” She can see him take a nervous gulp and it takes all her strength to keep from grinning. Checkmate. “What did you think about the author’s stance on postmodernism’s impact on art and the greater society?”

“The writer had a lot of good points.” She gives him a nod and he takes that as encouragement because then he straightens and continues with more confidence, leaning closer to her as he goes. “Postmodernism is, well, it’s _post_ modern, meaning after, Latin, I know it, Amyway antiagosay. So, uh, where was I? Postmodernism, it’s about moving society and art forward into the future. It’s pushing boundaries and reshaping things into a shinier tomorrow. It’s redefining _everything_. And it may not be the norm right now and a lot of people may not get it, but it’ll be all the rage when we have robots and flying cars.” 

She means to keep the charade up for longer but his excessive ramble complete with wild gesticulations makes her giggle. It’s almost adorable. If he wasn’t trying to lie about reading the New Yorker, that is. She tries to cover the laugh, but it’s too late, he’s seen and he’s staring at her with wide, startled eyes, and it only makes her laugh harder, her entire body shaking.   

“Are my brilliant postmodern ideas too radical for you?”

Amy takes a few deep breaths to stem her laughter. When she looks back at Jake, he’s staring at her, not with panic or offense, but with an almost soft expression, mouth a little open and face smooth and eyes intent on her like she’s one of da Vinci’s masterpieces. She clears her throat, cheeks a little too warm, and fixes her gaze on his chin, anywhere but his burning eyes.

“There was no article on postmodernism.”

“Oh.” His shoulders deflate, his brows draw tight together, and when she sneaks a glance back to his eyes, he looks upset enough that she feels just the slightest stir of pity for him. And then he frowns and points a finger at her. “You tricked me!”

“Only because you were lying first.”

“No, I wasn’t!” Jake half-shouts. Other guests look over, he waves at them, she follows suit because the last thing she wants is a scene, and once they’ve returned to their conversations, he hisses, “Okay, fine, you got me. I don’t read the New Yorker.”

She smirks. “Knew it.” 

“Please don’t tell Kevin.”

Amy considers him. He’s watching her with these big eyes and pouty lips, and it’s doing a little something to her insides, but it’s absolutely not going to work. 

“Only if you stop lying to him from now on.” 

Okay, so maybe it works a little, if only because he made her laugh. She’ll give him this one chance.

“I will.” Jake grins. “Although it wasn’t a complete lie. I did read part of the article…” As she opens her mouth to refute him, there’s no way he read the article and came to the conclusions he did, unless she’s severely misjudged his character, he adds, “I was at the dentist high on laughing gas but I did read it.”

A smile breaks out on her face despite herself and she rolls her eyes. “That explains so much.”

“About my genius?” She doesn’t justify his remark with an answer and he continues, “Okay, well, it’s been great talking to you, but I have to visit the crap library. I’ll see you later?”

Amy considers him, he’s wearing this small smile and his brows are drawn up with hope, and she says, “Ok.”

His smile widens and she finds herself returning it. “I’ll see you later, Jake.”

–

It’s less than five minutes after they part as Amy’s just grabbed a flute of champagne when she spots Jake hop the boundary to head upstairs. Outrage bubbles in her blood, because _how dare he continue to misbehave_ after his promise, followed by a strange feeling of disappointment. She has no reason to feel that way, it’s not like they’re friends or anything, she barely knows him, but nevertheless the feeling sits heavy in her stomach.    

She takes a step towards the staircase and then hesitates. It’s not her job to police Kevin’s home, but she can’t let Jake get away with breaking explicit signage, violating his privacy, and breaking promises to be honest.

So, she does the only thing she can – she sets her champagne glass to the side and follows him upstairs and into a room. When she enters what she now realizes is Raymond and Kevin’s bedroom, Jake is flipping through stuff on one of the nightstands.  

Amy crosses her arms and clears her throat. “Shouldn’t a cop know better than to trespass?”

Jake yelps and turns to face her, hands raised up. “I’m not trying to steal anything. Promise.” She continues to stare at him with a force forged from having seven brothers. His hands drop. “Kevin mentioned reading the New Yorker last night so I was going to read the article before talking to him again. But I can’t find it.”

“Why do you care so much?”

Jake opens his mouth, shuts it into a thin line, and then nods to himself. His voice loses its earlier panic and bravado, shifts into something more sincere and genuine and quiet. “I wanted to impress Captain Holt’s husband and I’m not allowed to tell cool cop stories so this is really all I’ve got.”

The uneasy stone in her stomach dissolves, leaving behind understanding. Amy knows what it’s like to want to impress other people, has spent hours researching and learning how to best present herself to the people who mattered most throughout her education and career. As a result, her voice is softer when she speaks.

“First of all, there are better ways than lying to impress someone.” He scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Secondly, this is a major breach in privacy.”

“You came up here instead of telling Kevin too. Not that I’m upset about it, but you did that.”

She bites her lip because he maybe has a point there, she should have gone straight to Kevin, but she wasn’t thinking.

“That’s not the point.”

“Two wrongs don’t make a right.” Jake teases and she scowls at him.

“I was trying to help!”

“And I super appreciate it but we’re both rule-breakers here.”

Amy rolls her eyes because he’s just trying to rile her up now and she is _not_ going to let it distract her from her list. “And third, maybe you would impress him if you decided not to back slavery.”

“That one was not my fault!” She stares at him. He sighs. “Fine, it was a little my fault. I didn’t realize I was heading there and then I couldn’t back out without looking bad.”

“Because supporting slavery doesn’t make you look even worse?”  

“I – you got me there. It’s worse, it’s definitely worse.” Jake sighs and scratches the back of his head. His eyes drop down to the ground. “I just want him to like me.”

“Why? He’s not your boss.”

“But he’s married to him. And Holt is, he’s a robot most of the time. But,” He stops talking then, shoulders folding in like maybe he can keep the world out that way. Suddenly he looks extraordinarily small and his voice is so quiet that she almost misses the next thing he says. “He’s the best captain I’ve had and… I care what he thinks about me. And he cares what his husband thinks.”  

Speechless, she just nods her head. He’s staring down at the carpet, body curled inwards, and he seems well-intentioned, to genuinely care about the opinion of Holt’s husband (unlike other past police colleagues Amy has heard about from Kevin), despite the lying. She sighs and pulls out her phone. After a few seconds of navigating, she hands it to him.

He stares at it and then at her. “What’s this for?”

“I have a subscription to the New Yorker. Go ahead and read it.”

Jake’s entire face lights up, lips cracking open into a wide grin, eyes brightening as he hops in place, and it’s a little disorienting, like all at once the spotlights have all fixed on her and she might burn away under them. “Thank you. You’re the best, Amy.”

Her cheeks flush and she smiles back and her heart is quickening and then –

The door opens and she jumps, eyes wide with a terror borne of always following the rules and suddenly being caught breaking one. A man Amy doesn’t know enters and barrels straight towards Jake. “I cannot believe you, Jake. This is not the time to get laid. Especially in the captain’s bedroom!”

Amy’s eyes widen. This is so much worse than breaking a rule.

“No, that’s, no,” comes out of her mouth at the same time as Jake says, “We weren’t going to bang.”

He fixes them both with a stern gaze and she can feel his doubt suspended in the air, choking her. She takes in a shallow breath around the pain in her chest and hopes that she looks trustworthy enough to convince this man that she had no such intentions. 

“Then what are you two doing up here?” 

Before Amy can explain, even though her mouth feels far too dry and her throat too tight to form words, Jake says, “I was looking for a copy of the New Yorker.” 

“Why would you come up here?”

“Kevin mentioned he was reading it last night so I thought it would still be on his nightstand. And I maybe backed myself into a position of defending slavery, so I really had to figure out how to justify that.” Jake gestures at her, hands swinging erratically. “Amy came up here for the same reason you did. Unless you had a secret plan to seduce me, in which case, Amy came up here for a totally different reason and you should reconsider professional boundaries –”

“Jake!”

“Right! Sorry, Terry. I’m done, I’m done.”

Amy stares at Jake. She feels a small stir in her heart for him taking the blame and not trying to weasel his way out of it. Terry looks between the two of them and sighs. He fixes Jake with a disappointed stare. “We need to have a long talk about not violating signs. But first let’s get out of here.”

And then they hear Raymond’s voice outside the door, coming closer. The three of them freeze and Terry gestures at the bathroom.  

They rush inside and shut the door and it’s fine. They’re going to get away with this. Amy resists the urge to exhale loudly, she doesn’t want yet another person to assume she came up here to sleep with Jake.

Outside, Raymond and Kevin are arguing about his guests and she can’t help but look over at Jake. Jake’s frowning, mouthing complaints to the words being said, brow furrowed. She reaches out slowly, trembling a little, and places a hand on his arm. His eyes shoot to her and she mouths _“it’s okay”_ and then –

And then Cheddar appears, staring up at them with his tongue lolling out and his hindquarters shaking.

Amy backs away immediately, scrunching past Jake to become as small and far away from Cheddar as she can in the corner of the bathroom. She hisses, “Dog allergy, shh, get away.”

To their effort, they move fast. Jake grabs a towel and Terry grabs the dog and then there’s soft fabric against her face and Jake’s warm body pressed up next to hers. It’s a valiant attempt but she can feel the itch traveling through her throat and then she’s sneezing.

The conversation outside stops. Kevin’s voice comes a moment later, hesitant. “Amy? Are you hiding in our bathroom with a dog you’re deathly allergic to?”

Jake mouths ‘deathly’ at her and well, she does kinda want to die right now. Instead a meek voice crawls out of her throat. “No.”

A moment later, the door opens. Raymond stares at his officers and Kevin stares at her and Cheddar is still panting happily as if he didn’t just blow their cover. It’s definitely up there on the list of the worst moments of her life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Part 2 will be up soon-ish? We'll see. 
> 
> If you want to chat with me about peraltiago/b99/anything else, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://proofthatihaveaheart.tumblr.com/).


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the support, particularly the friends who encouraged and talked to me about this and Erica especially for letting me run wild with this idea! I love you and I apologize for taking so long to finish this part.

Jake arrives at Columbia with sweaty palms and a bouquet of red carnations, a last-minute impulse buy from a florist he passed on the way.

The problem is he doesn’t actually know where Amy is right now. He looked up her office number beforehand, but what he’s really hoping for is a casual run-in on campus where he can say something charming and present her with flowers like a dashing action hero. Rather than, say, lingering outside her office for potentially hours until she shows up and finds him sitting there like a pathetic loser.

He walks across campus and heads to Kevin’s office. It’s possible she could be there to chat with Kevin, they’re friends after all… he can flourish the flowers and ask her out – and then Jake takes a second look at the flowers and feels his stomach drop.

What the fuck is he doing with flowers?

Jake doesn’t even know if she wants to _see_ him, let alone if she’s interested in dating him or accepting his flowers.

Suddenly his impulsivity looks like a monumentally bad idea, but he’s already at Kevin’s office and it’s too late to walk away.

“Peralta.” Kevin exclaims when Jake peeks his head into the office. Amy isn’t there. Jake is mostly relieved and only mildly disappointed. “I did not expect to see you again so soon. To what do I owe the visit?”

“You know you’re just as allergic to greetings as the captain.” Kevin fixes him with a sharp look. Jake hurries along, gulping away the nerves that have been fizzing in his stomach since he realized the bouquet was a terrible idea. “So, how did your dinner go?”

A small smile curls the corners of Kevin’s mouth. “Quite well. Thank you, Jake.”

Jake grins, genuinely pleased that it worked out and that Kevin no longer hates him.

Kevin’s gaze returns to the paper he was reading and Jake’s flicks around the office, casting around for something else to say. His eyes fall on a black and red vase sitting on a shelf behind Kevin. It’s decorated with horses and men bearing shields, and has a single handle curving off its neck.

Maybe he could ask about that weird-looking vase – it looks like it could have a story long enough for… what exactly? For Amy to show up? Suddenly banking on the chance of Amy coming by Kevin’s office seems as bad an idea as the bouquet he purchased. His stomach churns in agreement.  

Kevin breaks the silence. “Did you have something you wanted or did you just come by to inquire about the dinner?”

“Umm, no, actually I…” Jake trails off because he doesn’t have a real plan and his usual genius brain is short-circuiting on him, buzzing with a kind of static. He looks down at the flowers in his hand and before he can even think about it, the words tumble out of his mouth. “I’m here to deliver something! From your husband.”

“Oh?”

“Yep.” Jake fumbles and even though he bought these flowers with a half-baked plan to give them to Amy, he shoves them at Kevin. “Here. Carnations. They’re very romantic.”

Kevin stares at the bouquet for a moment, maybe he hates carnations?, and then redirects his gaze to Jake. “Last I checked, Detective Peralta, you are not my husband’s personal assistant.”

“Gina was busy and I had to come this direction anyway so I figured I could drop these off.” Jake shakes the flowers slightly. A loose petal comes off and drifts to the ground, a drop of red against the light background. Jake relates to it a little too much for comfort. “So, here you go, enjoy!”

Slowly Kevin reaches over and takes the bouquet from Jake. His face is a little bewildered, eyes wide and brow raised. “Thank you.” A pause as he looks from Jake to the flowers back to Jake. “You are, however, aware that the classics department is not in the same building as the art history department, are you not?” 

“I…. what now?”

“The art history department. That’s where you intended to go, isn’t it? Perhaps to give these to someone else?”

Jake continues to stare at Kevin, stomach flipping over, because _how did he know_. Holt’s investigative skills must have rubbed off on him somehow. Or else, Kevin has always been a mastermind and that’s what drew Holt to him in the first place. They could take over the world if they wanted to.

As appealing as that thread of thought seems, and he will be returning to it at a more opportune hour, Jake refocuses on the problem at hand and shakes his head fervently.

“No, that’s, no, these are definitely for you. From Captain Holt. Captain Raymond Holt, your husband.” Jake pauses, biting his lip. “But if I _was_ hypothetically interested in art history, where would I go for that?”

“The art history department is in Schermerhorn Hall, just 3 minutes north on Amsterdam Avenue. Although if you’re truly interested in art history, you could catch an introductory lecture in 304 Barnard Hall at this time.”

The fluttering in his stomach intensifies, and he’s almost bouncing with the pent-up energy. He’s going to see Amy again. He’s going to see her and ask her out and maybe she’ll even say yes. His head bobs up and down. “Noice. Will definitely do that. I’m very interested in the arts.”

“It’s noticeable.” Kevin extends the bouquet to him. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather have these flowers?”

“Kevin Cozner! If you keep this up, I’ll tell your husband not to send more.”

“Oh, alright then, I’ll keep them.”

Jake nods his head furiously. He’s ready to stop by the art history lecture and take a chance but he is so not ready to be rejected with a whole bouquet of flowers in hand. It would be too pathetic. He gestures at the black and red vase that he’d been considering earlier. “You can put them in that vase. They’d look nice there.”

“That is an ancient Greek lekythos, _not_ a vase. They used it for serving olive oil.”  

Jake looks at the not-a-vase vase again, it certainly _looks_ like a vase, but nods. “That explains the handle.”

“Yes.” Kevin glances at the bouquet and then fixes his gaze on Jake. “This is more than enough flowers for me. I insist you take one. Raymond wouldn’t know the difference. You could give it to your mother or put them in a vase.”

“I…” Under Kevin’s sharp gaze, Jake shrugs. “Ok. One won’t hurt.”

He carefully pulls out one of the carnations, rolling the stem between his fingers to watch it spin. None of the petals drop off and he feels buoyed, maybe even hopeful. This is going to work out.  

At the door, Jake glances back at Kevin, who’s sporting a small, fond smile. “Thanks, Kev!”

“It’s Kevin,” he calls out but Jake is already gone.  

\--

Jake heads across Columbia’s campus to Barnard Hall where he locates the lecture hall with relative ease. And then he’s there, staring at the door with a flower in one hand and a hummingbird heart in his chest. He takes a deep breath and pushes the door open a fraction.

Most of the lights in the lecture hall are off, the room lit instead by a large projection screen displaying a painting. There are rows and rows of cushioned seats leading down. From this angle, Jake can see everything from diligent students hunched over notebooks to a couple in the back scrolling through Facebook on their phones.

And most importantly, Amy at the front of the class. She’s wearing a neat gray pantsuit, her hair is pulled up in a bun, and she looks just as stunning as she did at the party in her red dress.

He quietly shuts the door behind him and shuffles to an open aisle seat several rows down. The student next to him shoots him a look and then returns to scribbling notes.

Jake settles into the seat. He didn’t always pay attention in his college classes, it was hard to focus on people drone on about subjects he didn’t find interesting when his brain would much rather think about any number of other things he actually cared about, but here, his attention is solely on Amy.

She’s talking about Michelangelo and then she switches to Raphael and Jake _knows_ she’s referring to the Renaissance artists but his mind still goes to the Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles.

He wonders which of these artists is Amy’s favorite. He wonders which of the turtles is her favorite. He wonders if he should form an opinion about the first question before he talks to her again, so he can actually say something intelligent about art and not just ninja turtles.  

“Can anyone tell me what Raphael’s major contributions were?”

Amy looks over in his direction and he freezes. Has she noticed him? Is she going to – and then he notices that the girl sitting next to him has her hand raised. Of course, duh. It would be wild if she could pick him out in a crowded lecture hall.   

“Yes, Fatima?”

As the student starts talking, Amy’s eyes widen and fix on him. He smiles, a small nervous smile that steadily grows on his face the longer she stares at him. Something inside his chest shifts, a beat with a new kind of rhythm, and the room around them goes fuzzy at the edges, like there’s no one else in the entire world except for the two of them. She’s smiling a little too, her lips turned up. He wishes he could go down there right now, wishes he could present her with this flower and his heart all in one go.

The spell is broken when the girl who answered asks, “Professor, am I right?”

“I, uhhh,” Amy blinks a couple times, turns her attention back to Fatima. “Yes, that was very good.”

Amy pauses then, casts one final curious look at Jake, and continues teaching. On his part, Jake just smiles wider, preening just a bit, and hopes this means she’s just as affected by seeing him as he is by her.

The lecture goes on exactly like it did before she noticed him with only one significant difference. Every once in a while, she sneaks a glance at him and his eyes meet hers. She looks away hurriedly each time, but never stumbles in her teaching.

Jake smiles each time and gradually, as she explains the ideas that bind Renaissance art together and presents examples, he feels the muscles in his body loosen, the sound of her voice infectious in its enthusiasm and calming in its timbre. His leg stops shaking and he settles back to listen and learn.

Time passes. Jake doesn’t know how much; he’s never been good at judging time and his eyes haven’t left Amy to check his phone even once. But it passes and Amy stops at a slide depicting a woman standing in a shell.

“That’s all I’ve prepared for today. Class dismissed.”

Jake starts to get up, the frenetic energy from before returning, crackling through his body, but stops when he notices that no one else is moving. He glances to the right to find all the students near him staring, mouth agape at Amy.

“Is everything okay, Dr. Santiago?” A small voice from the front speaks up.

Amy, who had taken the moment of silence to pack her laptop away, says, “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“Well… it’s two minutes before class is supposed to get out.”

There’s a pause. Amy bites down on her lower lip, looks at the student who had spoken and then, Jake swears, her eyes jump to him. “I finished the lecture and I’m letting you out early. Teachers are allowed to do that.”

“But why – “

A voice from the back of the room yells, “Don’t question it, man! She’s letting us out early!”

His words break the room’s paralysis as everyone starts shuffling notebooks into backpacks and standing up, all done in a rush before the professor changes her mind. Jake stands with them, at last, body trembling with undisclosed excitement and nerves. It would be faster to try hurtling over the seats but he takes it slow rather than risk a faceplant in front of her, fighting through the current of students trying to get out.  

When he reaches the bottom of the lecture hall, Amy is already deep in conversation with a student. His hair is carefully groomed, his face stretched in animated excitement as he rambles about the Renaissance ideas of humanism. Eventually his ramble leads to a question, “I know that there were differences between the Northern and Italian Renaissances, but why? What made them so different?”  

“Reading ahead?”

The student bobs his head, his entire body shaking with enthusiasm. “I couldn’t help it. I got so caught up in it.”

Amy smiles and then her gaze land on Jake. Her eyes widen marginally and then she looks back at the student. “I can send you some recommendations for articles to read more on the subject later, but I can give you a shortened version of it right now, if that works.”

“That sounds great. Thank you.” 

As Amy explains his question, her gaze keeps slipping back to Jake, as if to check that he’s still there. He smiles and gives her a little wave.

Minutes tick by. The rest of the lecture hall is now completely empty. The student is still plying her with questions, having moved on from the lecture material to her recently published paper.

“I had another question.” Amy glances at Jake, apologetic, as the student continues on, “I was reading your most recent paper, the one about how Mexican art adopted multiple influences to form a unique identity during their fight for independence, and it got me thinking about what their earlier art was like. Did they have a Renaissance too?”

Jake doesn’t want to cut into their conversation, but he’s getting antsy, bouncing from foot to foot while watching the two of them. At this rate, he’s going to crush the carnation stem held in his hand or else, somehow imprint it with his sweat.

“The Renaissance did reach the New World. Actually, there were many indigenous artists who took up the style while maintaining many of their traditions. It’s a common theme throughout the history of Latin American art.”

“What did they make? Were they doing statues or big paintings or frescos or a bit of everything? How much of it do we have left?”

“I could talk about their work for hours,” The student’s eyes light up in much the same way Jake’s eyes once lit up when he opened his birthday present to find a special edition of Die Hard waiting inside, “But it’s getting late, Gary.” 

Gary’s shoulders fall, like maybe all his birthday wishes have just been cruelly shot down. Okay, maybe that’s a bit of an exaggeration, but only because Jake feels like all his wishes have finally come true. He has to force himself not to jump up and down cheering.

“Oh, right, of course.”

“You can come by during office hours and we’ll pick the discussion back up. I can show you some examples too.”

Gary beams. “Sure thing, Dr. Santiago. I’ll see you later.”

“Bye, Gary.”

On his way out, Gary passes by Jake, tilting his head in curiosity at him but not stopping to ask questions. Jake is grateful for it. Once the student’s gone, the door shutting behind him with a small thud, Jake practically skips over to Amy.                                    

“Your students really love you.”

Amy smiles warmly. “It’s mostly just Gary. He’s very interested in art.”

“Freshman?”  

“Not bad, detective. He already knows he wants to go to graduate school.”

“I bet that was you in college.”

She snorts, grins. “Not exactly… I did come up and talk to every professor at least once a week after class.”

Her laughing grin fills Jake with confidence – if he can still make her laugh and she hasn’t kicked him out of the lecture hall yet, he’s got a lot of hope in his heart – and he raises the hand clutching the flower. “I saw this and thought of you and uh, here, I hope you like it. It’s a carnation.”

Amy reaches out and takes the flower, hand brushing his as she does. It sends a tendril of warmth through him, even though her hands are cooler than his. Her cheeks flush red and she smiles down at it. “Thank you, Jake.”

Jake nods, drops his sweaty hand down by his side. Discreetly, he wipes his palm on his jeans.

“Yeah, well, it’s no big deal.” He shrugs, like he wasn’t just wiping sweat off. “I’m sorry about getting you kicked out of the party. I hope Kevin isn’t angry.”

“No. We talked it out the day after. He knows I was just up there to stop you.” He nods and she adds, “What about you? Are things okay with your boss?”

“Yeah.” Jake grins. “We came up with this genius plan. Threw a big romantic private dinner for Holt and his husband to apologize for being lousy party guests.”

“That’s really sweet.”

Jake smiles.

“Is that why you’re on campus then?”

“Well, I did stop by Kevin’s office. And…” he pauses, this is it, the big moment when he figures out if she wants anything more to do with him, his hands are clammy and he feels warm all over and he really hopes his voice is smoother than how he’s feeling because he is most definitely not feeling James Bond suave right now, “I wanted to see you.”

Nailed it.

“Oh.”

Maybe nailed it? And then she smiles and ducks her head, tucking her hair back, and his heart skips a beat because this has to be a sign and he takes a breath and before he can add on to that, she says, eyes on him, “I’m glad you did.” 

He returns her warm smile, even as his heart hammers wildly in his chest at her admission.

“Do you want to get dinner sometime?”

“I’d love to.” They smile at each other, his cheeks are absolutely going to hurt after this, he couldn’t care less, and then she adds, “I can teach you a little something about postmodernism, Akejay Eraltapay.”

He laughs, caught off-guard by her jibe and instantly at ease, before puffing out his chest and tilting his head up, “And _I_ can impress you with my daring cop stories.”

She snorts and though she tries hard to hide it behind a stern mask, he can see her lips twitching in amusement. “You’re going to have to try pretty hard. My dad, two of my uncles, and six of my brothers are cops so I’ve heard a lot of cop stories.” 

“No way!” When she nods, he adds, “That’s awesome.” 

“My dad’s nickname was the Lion.” 

He can feel his eyes bug out and he wants her to tell him all her dad’s cool cop stories immediately. But there will be time for that later, he hopes, plenty of time.

“My nickname is the Barracuda.”

“You’re kidding.”

He ducks his head, grinning. “Got me. But one day it will be.”

She laughs then, loud and effervescent, and the sound of it warms him all the way through. “Good luck with that.”

“So, seventeen family members on the force – “

“Nine.”

“Right. Math. Not my thing.” He says quickly as she gives him a fond eye-roll (he hopes it’s fond anyway, and not derisive). “Nine family members on the force, what made you split from family tradition?” 

“I thought about going to the Academy when I was a kid.” He nods, tries to picture her as a badass detective and finds that he can, the way she caught on to his lie and interrogated him about it, she would have been amazing at cop work, and she continues. “Then I went to college and decided to major in art history.”

“And the rest is history?”

She smiles. “It wasn’t an easy choice, I spent a lot of time going back and forth between becoming a captain in the NYPD and going to graduate school for art history. In the end, I decided I loved this too much to give it up.”

“What made you like it so much?”

Amy pauses, staring past him. He takes the opportunity to really study her, the dip of her nose, the curve of her cheek, the shine of her hair, each and every little detail that composes her. His fingers twitch by his side, he wants to reach out and brush his fingers across her skin, but he resists the urge. Maybe later, if she wants to. And then her brown eyes are back on his, open and bright, as she speaks,

“Art history is another way of understanding people. There’s beauty in art, obviously, people put it in museums and their homes to look at, but there’s also a context behind each and every work of art. It’s a reflection of the artist and their view on society, the privileged elite, the oppressed, and everyone in-between. And it doesn’t just reflect society, art impacts it. It’s capable of sparking revolutions, moving people in the deepest ways, forming identities. Studying that… trying to understand how art fits into society and how society fits into art, it’s the most exciting thing I can think of.”

Jake can remember half a dozen trips to art museums as a kid – the Met, the MOMA, the Whitney, other smaller museums that seem to exist in every nook and cranny of the city. He can remember sneaking off from tours and cracking jokes and only stopping to gaze at paintings of naked men and women, or when an assignment required him to scrawl some information down. Never once would he have called the field trips exciting. But hearing Amy talk about art, he thinks he may have appreciated the artwork more if she’d been there to tell him about it.

She’s glowing, hands waving as she explains the importance of art and understanding its history, and he’s captivated. It’s awesome, _she’s_ awesome, in the modern sense of the word but also in all its original glorious meaning, like when people happened upon the jagged peaks of mountains for the first time and held their breaths at the sight and proclaimed them the home of the gods. It’s like that, except it’s her, Amy Santiago, who caught him in a lie about the New Yorker and laughed at his jokes and talks about art like it’s something magical.

“And well,” she grins, something challenging and ambitious and hungry rising up in her shining eyes, “there aren’t a lot of women, let alone Latina women, studying art history. It’s a missing perspective. I can change that.”

“Wow.” Jake breathes out, reverent. Her cheeks flush scarlet. And then because this is too much vulnerability too fast, because he still has his father’s departure and half a dozen heartbreaks stamped on his very soul, he jokes, “That may have been the nerdiest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Amy rolls her eyes and he feels a stir of fear, what if this was too much, what if he came on to strong and then stumbled back and came off too rude, what if she’s no longer interested –  

“I didn’t mean it like that.” He pushes a hand into his hair, tries to lasso the skittering thoughts in his head into something resembling order. “I, it’s great. You’re great. I like the nerdiness. I’m just –“ he could tell her about emotions and fathers and trying to grow past it but it doesn’t seem like a good time to crack open that particular can of worms, “I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay, Jake.”

She nods to herself. He has no idea what it means but he has a feeling she’s made some kind of monumental decision about him. His stomach clenches.

“We should leave. The next class is starting soon.”

Jake’s shoulders drop, fuck, why can’t he keep his mouth shut, and his voice is halfhearted when he speaks, “Sure.”

She takes him in, really looks at him in a way that makes him feel vulnerable and known, as if she can strip past every layer and see the essence of who he is, and then says, “I could use a caffeine boost right now. If you have time, there’s a good coffeeshop close by. We could head over there?”

His eyes widen and he studies her. She’s biting her lower lip, waiting, sincere about the offer. “Coffee sounds great.”

“Great.”

They grin at each other and then Jake follows her out the door into the New York sunshine, a scene more beautiful than any envisioned by the artists of the Renaissance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's it for this au! For now anyway. 
> 
> If you want to chat with me about peraltiago/b99/anything else, you can find me on [Tumblr](http://proofthatihaveaheart.tumblr.com/).


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